


The Union

by written_in_blood



Series: 004, aka, the Good Doctor [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 004 - Freeform, BAMF John, John is a double-oh, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft IS the British Government, iceman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 14:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14114715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/written_in_blood/pseuds/written_in_blood
Summary: They were playing a dangerous game now. Long since had they stopped dancing, the old waltz becoming boring with each step, and now their hands pulled and played at the pieces of a worn chess board. John learned what piece he would be before he could even aim his buretta straight and it was of no shock when he levelled his gaze with his equivalent across the board.A queen.John and Mycroft's faceoff.





	The Union

“Sit down, please, Doctor Watson.”

 

Two exits as easy access. The first was the obvious choice but risky, as it was no doubt guarded by no possibly guessable count of goons. The second was a decent sized window that John could no trouble dragging himself through in a particularly dedicated escape attempt if the situation ever came to it. The window also proved improbable because of their height off the ground and even the soldier inside of John that was screaming _get out, get out, you idiot, get out,_ wasn’t looking to fall fifteen or so floors.

 

So the first exit it is.

 

John waited a full beat, watching the twitch of his opponent’s lips as they almost forced themselves down singularly of his distain’s accord. John didn’t take the offered seat, though, preferring to be on level in the all too familiar situation of a possibly deadly _tête-la-tête._

 

“No, thank you but I prefer to stand.” All the better if there was the need to run but that was left unsaid. John levelled his naturally passive stare with his opponent.

 

“Please, Doctor Watson, there is no need for such masks here. After all, I have seen you in all your glory on countless occasions so let’s not play dull; it is not becoming of a man your caliber.”

 

Something switched in his mind and John smirked, a long since neglected facial expression he shed years back in favor of his pensive look. He shook off _harmless doctor_ like a well worn coat and watched his careful planning fall to the floor around him, burning up with all the force of a raging fire crisping the edges before tearing inwards. It was the blooming of his beloved war face that the Q branch interns didn’t understand- _run and hide, another double-oh snapped_ -that made John sigh.

 

He was a soldier, born and bred, and there was no point in his mind at this point to deny that part of his mind to those who were aware.

 

There were three beings with a claim upon his body. 004, the Good Doctor, and John Watson. Only now was his opportunity to prove 004 still existed.

 

Though there was that inflection of ‘glory’ that had John pausing in the middle of his transformation. What glory was in his job? He had long since escaped-been kicked-from his livelihood so there was nothing left of 004: the man this omniscient wanted.

 

Ignoring his discomfort with the state of his vaguely pathetic life-exception: Sherlock bloody Holmes, thank god-he finally dropped all GD off his back like a light switch had been flipped. From the outside, he would simply look tenser but he knew his opponent picked up the second both GD and John Watson ceased to exist.

 

John’s hands curled naturally, his lips flattened out with a blank lack of emotion, his shoulders set strictly and he fell back into parade rest. _Awaiting orders_.

 

Mycroft Holmes laughed.

 

“Impressive, soldier. If I did not know you firsthand, I would assume Doctor John Watson had never existed in the first place.” His eyes -his brother’s eyes, Moriarty’s eyes, his mother’s eyes- traced John’s body as if investigating a piece of art for authenticity.

 

 _It's all there, ya prick_ , he wanted to say but bit back the words with all the control he could muster. Instead he managed a terse, “Would it be such a revelation?”

 

They were playing a dangerous game now. Long since had they stopped dancing, the old waltz becoming boring with each step, and now their hands pulled and played at the pieces of a worn chess board. John learned what piece he would be before he could even aim his buretta straight and it was of no shock when he levelled his gaze with his equivalent across the board.

 

A queen.

 

John was the unstoppable force to Mycroft’s immovable object as John took to the board with well-developed abilities.

 

“There are concerns I must address first, Good Doctor, before we begin to discuss anything of consequence. Surely you understand?”

 

“Of course, Ice Man.”

 

Mycroft’s lips quirked at that, a slight smirk ghosting his features. He knew, no doubt to be found, that it was a name well known through the halls of MI6. Figuring it was useless to address the quirk MI6 had instilled in the double-ohs, Mycroft leaned back faux-carelessly in a calculated action. His umbrella leaned the other way, thin fingers balancing it outwards in John’s direction. “Wonderful.”

 

The word was sharp and crisp, a warning of what was to come.

 

John kept perfectly still as he had plenty of practice performing throughout the years. If Mycroft wanted him to squirm, he would have to try harder.

 

“This first concern of mine is your current living conditions.”

 

John normally wouldn't give his opponent the satisfaction of hearing the sharp intake of breath that shot through his lips if he could help it but the electric shock that rippled through his thoughts forced the sound out brokenly. He should have known, should have known that he would be separated from his new life when his old life came to light but it was childish hope that kept him steady. Hope that he could remain John Watson, remain normal for once.

 

For Sherlock.

 

“Now,” Ice Man began with a narrowed gaze, “I am willing to allow your presence in 221B if you consent to a contract.”

 

“Of who?” John questioned lightly, attempting to keep his anxiety hidden.

 

“Of Good Doctor, of course.”

 

He felt anger spark in his chest, sharp and painful. “I will not be a hired gun for you in exchange for housing,” he snapped, letting just a little control slip from his hands. “Take your contract and shove it.”

 

Mycroft simply laughed once, an emotionless echo as the ghost of a smile lifted his lips. He left John his one outburst before leaning forward minutely on the tip of his pseudo-cane. “I am interested in obtaining your trigger finger, yes, but it is not the soldier I wish to bind. Safe housing, well as safe as my reckless brother allows his living quarters, in exchange for protection of said fool.”

 

John’s thoughts stuttered off as he watched each sly movement of the man across from him. “You want me to be a bodyguard for Sherlock?” He restated almost unnecessarily. At Mycroft’s stiff nod, John almost laughed. This omniscient man was allowing him his freedom in the simplest forms, giving him a job he already had attained. “You are under the impression I don't protect the man already?”

 

“I am sure you do, Doctor, and well is it, but I believe a change in leadership could persuade you to be a little more...careful, per say.”

 

If that wasn’t a warning, John didn’t know what was. If he didn’t say yes, Mycroft would spill his secret faster than John could say ‘bad idea’.

 

So he did the only thing he could to preserve his life, a life with Sherlock.

 

“Yes, sir.” He sat down.


End file.
